Lightning Crashes
by Star.Crossed.Vigilante
Summary: Maxine Aire was put into a medically induced coma after being struck by lightning. A journey into her subconscious ensues, where she meets the characters and relives the events of her little brother's favorite video game. No pairings. Revamped chapters.
1. Chapter 1

"**Lightening Crashes"**

_By Star Crossed Vigilante

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_

"How would you two feel about going camping this weekend?"

I looked up from my book to find my mother was standing in the doorway of the media room, eyes bright and cheeks flushed with obvious pleasure. My younger brother, who was currently wrapped up in a video game, jammed the pause button on his controller before wheeling on her.

"But Devil May Cry 4 comes out this Saturday!" he whined. "We can't go camping when Devil May Cry _4 _is coming out!"

Mother scowled at him. I picked up my book again. "Now, now, Nikky. Life does _not_ revolve around that video game!"

"But I've had it reserved for months!" he protested.

"And I'm sure it will _still_ be reserved when we get back," mother said, practical as always. "You can play it _then_."

"Yeah, and lose _two whole_ _days_ of play time!"

"Ooh, two whole _days_!" I mocked. Nikky stuck out his tongue. I continued: "The game can wait, kid. It's not like there's anything _special_ about that series, anyway."

"You only say that because you can't beat it without help," he returned smugly.

"Watch it, brat."

"Make me, you old hag."

"Nikky!" mother said loudly, shocked. "Maxine!"

"She started it!" Nikky whined. He picked up the handset and restarted the game. On screen, a red-clad man resumed pummeling a large, hulking black specter with a broadsword. "I can't help it if she sucks at gaming!"

My eyes narrowed. "Says the boy who had to ask for help to beat the blue version of Pokemon."

"Whatever," he snapped. His fingers flew over the buttons, agitated by my rebuttal. Mother sighed loudly.

"Just be ready to leave by four o'clock on Friday," she said before exiting the room. I "mmm-ed" noncommittally. Nikky said: "'Kay."

After a few moments of silence punctuated by naught but page turns and blade clangs, Nikky shot me a sly glance. "Wanna play?" he said, offering me the controller.

I glanced at the TV. He had it on the Devil May Cry 3 Mission 18 loading screen.

"I'll pass," I said. He smirked.

"Why not, Max? It's only Mission 18."

I glared at him. "Shut up."

"Oh, that's right!" he said, looking at me in mock surprise.

"Shut up, Nikky."

"This is the level you can never beat, isn't it?"

I said nothing. He grinned. "Wanna watch me play it?"

I rose from my seat. "No."

"Aw, c'mon, sis. You might learn a thing or two."

Pivoting on my heel, I strode from the room. "It's a stupid game."

Little did I know that, in the not so distant future, I would need all the knowledge of that level I could get.

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A/N:**** A little something for my sister, Vir M., when she gets through with her series of surgeries. Luckily, she can't use the computer until she recovers, so I will have plenty of chapters for her to read once her eyesight returns. **

**And yes, I am aware that this wasn't very good. I'm out of practice with fiction writing. It is also my first fan fic, and I do not have a beta.**

**Devil May Cry © Capcom**


	2. Chapter 2

**Lightning Crashes**

**By Star Crossed Vigilante

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**

We were three days into our camping trip and I couldn't take it anymore.

Without complaining, I had spent three whole days with Dad, the business man who carted his satellite phone out to the middle of nowhere with him and would not stop yakking on it, to the point that he ignored his family for the wonders of business matters. I had spent three whole days with Mom, my polar opposite, whose chipper attitude and sunny smiles grated horribly on my nerves. I had even spent three whole complaint-less days with Nikky, who would not stop whining about how cold, or how hot, or how wet, or how dry, or how tired, or how bored, or how hungry he was.

He would also not stop talking about how much he regretted leaving his DMC4 disc unplayed.

It was Sunday evening, and the mountain air smelled of ozone and pine, with an undercurrent of decaying leaves. The atmosphere was heavy and still, pressure indicating an approaching storm. Thunder rumbled in the distance, drowning out the sounds of our feet scrambling over boulders and fallen pine boughs.

I was running, both literally and figuratively, and will admit that freely. I was running from the pressure that was my family, and sought to climb to the top of a nearby bluff in order to find an hour or so of peace and quiet.

Of course, what with my brother following me up the steep, rocky slope, the looks of things indicated that I would find very little quiet atop the rise.

"W-wait up, Max!" Nikky called as he stumbled up the slope. I did not reply, merely found another handhold and pulled myself atop a boulder. For all his tough talk at home, he was like a little kid again out here, stumbling after his sister like a lost puppy.

Thunder boomed again; more loudly this time. The thunderheads that dominated the skyline above us drew closer. A breeze sprang up, whipping my copper braid into my eyes. Some of the loose strands tangled with my pale lashes, and I was forced to blink rapidly to clear my vision

"Don't you think we've gone far enough?" he yelled up at me. I remained silent as thunder rolled and rain began to fall, as light and persistent as sunshine, though not nearly as warm. Actually, it was quite cold, and I shivered as the drops saturated my plaid lumberjack shirt. "Look, it's starting to rain! C'mon, Max; let's go back!"

I looked back at him as I levered myself atop a log. He was huddled on an outcropping of stone, arms wrapped tight around his knees. His thick brown hair was disheveled and wet, his mahogany eyes scared.

"A little higher!" I shouted above the rising wind as rain pelted me. "Just to that ledge up there!"

I pointed with my left hand. The plain silver ring I wore on my index finger glittered. About twenty feet above me was a bare ledge on the mountainside; a thick slab of stone open to the sky. Its top had been smoothed by wind and rain; it looked like a rock table with no legs.

"I don't think that's such a good idea—" Nikky called, but his voice was drowned out by the wind. I started climbing again, hiking boots scrambling for purchase. The rain began to pound, the fine drizzle now a torrent. The fabric of my jeans clung to me like a second skin.

It took me no more than five minutes to reach the stone slab. I pulled myself atop it with shaking arms, rose haltingly to my knees, my hiking boots scuffing the stone warily. My breath came in short, hard gasps that did nothing but burn my lungs, and my muscles were screaming in pain. Oxygen was having a hard time coming back to my body, and every fiber of me thrummed as if wound taught by an invisible pulley.

I stood completely straight despite my body's complaints, and was nearly bowled over by a gust of vicious wind. My arms pin wheeled drunkenly, searching for balance, and after a seemingly endless moment I was able to right myself. Turning back the way I had come, I squinted through the downpour and was able to make out Nikky's small form huddled on the rock where I'd left him. He had not moved.

"Nikky!" I screamed, waving my arms in the air. I knew he couldn't make it up here without help, and I since I doubted he could hear me I kept my left hand—the one with the ring—elevated. "Stay put! I'll be back down in a minute!" Thunder roared, then, so loudly I thought my eardrums would burst.

And then I was on fire.

My nerves sang and my flesh pulsed; my muscles spasmed and my ears rang; my bones hummed with a chorus of vibration. My head jerked back as a scream tore from my throat, and I saw a ribbon of jagged silver light connecting with the ring on my left index finger.

My knees began to buckle as the lightning vanished and the sensation dissipated, but then snapped back into rigidity when a second bolt connected with the silver band. It was far worse than the first, since my nerves were already singed beyond repair. My spine went nuts: I began to seizure violently as the electricity pounded into me in waves of violent light. As soon as the feeling both started, reached a fever pitch, and dissipated, a third and final bolt connected with my ring. My blood boiled in my veins; my hair stood on end; my nails embedded themselves in my palm. My eyes bulged from their sockets as white hot pain jack knifed through my body. My muscles jerked and I began to convulse while still on my feet.

And then it was over.

As I began to fall, I thought in a detached way that I must have been screaming the entire time, because my throat felt raw enough to bleed. As my body connected with the stone, I noted absently the grayish coloring of the rock beneath me, and the black and silver speckles interspersed throughout the stone. _Quartz,_ I thought vaguely. _The stone is laced with quartz. _My hand fell to rest next to my face, and I saw that the flesh around my ring was burnt black and blistered. Would I lose the finger? I wondered absently. I hope not…

Then, smiling in the absence of that singing, electric pain, I succumbed to darkness.

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A/N:**** Review.**

**Devil May Cry © Capcom**


	3. Chapter 3

**Lightning Crashes**

By Star Crossed Vigilante

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I woke up in a lumpy hospital bed, unable to move. Every muscle in my body screamed with pin pricks of pain. Each nerve ending felt like a miniature sun embedded within my flesh. But the pain in my hand, my left one, was the worst.

"Nngh," I moaned, attempting to pry open my eyelids. They weighed ten pounds each; felt swollen and puffy.

"Max?" said a high, tearful voice.

I tried to answer, but could only moan: "Nngh?" My eyes reached half-mast, and the pinched, tired faces of my father, mother, and brother swam into view, their heads silhouetted against bright, sterile lighting.

"Oh, Max," my mother sobbed. Her hands were pressed tightly to her lips. "My baby, my baby, oh—"

"I didn't mean it when I called you a hag," Nikky said quickly, anxiously. "Really I didn't! I—"

"What were you thinking, Max?!" my father boomed. "You're lucky to be alive!"

A woman I did not know—I assumed her to be a nurse—bustled over. "Hush!" she said. She began to fiddle with a clear plastic bag hanging from a steel rod. "Darling, I'm going to administer a pain killer intravenously, okay?"

I 'nngh-ed' again and closed my eyes, but not before I caught site of a needle spearing the back of my hand. It was held down by gauze and tape.

_Needles,_ I thought. _Needles._ _Oh, God, not needles._

But then… it didn't matter any more. Mercifully, everything faded into gray.

When I woke up a second time, my family was absent.

"Max?"

I tried to turn my head but found the feat to be impossible. Instead, I opted for saying: "Why…can't… move?" The sentence came out slurred and hoarse and incomplete; my throat was raw. Immediately, I started coughing.

"Now, now," said the voice. It was a man's voice. A large, calloused hand swam into view, holding a plastic cup filled with water. The hand looked like God's, and the water heaven.

He held the cup to my lips: I drank, though most of it spilled across my face to pool in the shell of my ear and the sheets beneath my head. Still, my throat was saved.

The cup vanished as the last of the water left it, and since talking was obviously too much of an effort to make, I merely groaned the word: "Move?" A towel descended and dabbed at the moisture on my cheeks. The rough weave set off sparklers of pain behind my eyes, and I groaned.

A face appeared over me when the towel vanished. It was crow-like and stern, with horn rimmed glasses set over sharp brown eyes.

"You were struck by lightning, Max," it said. Its thin lips moved dizzyingly, and I fought to keep my eyes open. "Three times, in fact. The electrical impulses connecting your brain to your muscles and your nerves have been utterly scrambled. Until they recover, movement will prove impossible."

I stared up at him. What had he said? I couldn't remember. "Fix?" I implored softly, again sighting my lack of movement. "Heal?"

"That is what I have come to speak to you about," the doctor—_for that is what he is,_ I deduced—said softly. "We—meaning both myself and my colleagues—believe that if your body was put into a drug-induced coma, the electrical impulses connecting your brain and nerves would correct themselves—with luck, and with time."

"Luck?" I choked. The man smiled grimly, tight lipped.

"We think the process would work better if we administered shock treatment during your state of interim, in order to direct the impulse flow," he said. "This is, of course, risky, so we need to ask your permission before we administer the drugs. I understand you turned eighteen last August?"

"Yes," I murmured. "True." The doctor nodded brusquely.

"Then do I have your consent?"

I stared at him, then said, for lack of any better ideas, "Yes."

"Good, then. I will inform your family." His face disappeared, and I was about to close my eyes again when it returned to hover above me. "Speaking of which, would you like to see them one more time before beginning treatment?"

"Treatment—?" I choked, surprised.

"The sooner the better, I should think."

I sat still a moment, then said: "Yes."

"I'll be back in a moment with the anesthesiologist." He disappeared, this time for good. I heard a door opening and three pairs of footsteps drew close.

"Max?" said a small voice.

Nikky.

"Kid?" I breathed. He face peered down at me.

"Hi, Max."

"You… okay?"

"I'm good." His voice cracked halfway through, and his eyes filled with tears. Mom's face joined his, as did her tears. Dad's followed.

"Max," my dad said gruffly. "You can expect hell from me when you wake up."

"Matthew!" mother gasped. Dad stared at me, then lightly touched the back of my cheek with his hand.

"You'll be okay," he said. His eyes crinkled with a smile, but the look could not hide the anguish brimming in his dollar-green eyes. I noted absently that we had the same eyes. Had I known that before? I wasn't sure. Thinking was just too difficult. "You always are. Always have been. My baby girl. Did I ever tell you how much I loved you?"

"Yes." What was he saying? He seemed pleased by my answer, though, so I did not ask.

"Good, then. We all love you."

I got that part, and answered with: "Know."

I heard two sets of footsteps. The faces of the first doctor and another doctor I didn't know joined my family's.

"We will administer the drug now," said the first doctor. "You'll be under in seconds, so say goodbye, for now."

"Goodbye for now," my family chorused dutifully. The faces of the doctors disappeared, and all at once I felt very, very tired.

As I began to descend once more into darkness, a small, small voice addressed me.

"Max?"

"Nikky?"

"Promise that you'll wait in line with me for Devil May Cry 4 when you wake up, okay?"

"Nik…"

"Promise!"

"Prom…" I began, "…ise…"

But then the darkness descended like an oily wave, and promises were nothing but words.

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A/N:**** Scene inspired by one I had with my sister when she was about to go into surgery.**

**Devil May Cry © Capcom.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Lightning Crashes**

_By Star Crossed Vigilante

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_

It was nice, this Dark Place. There were no walls and there was no floor, and the blackness stretched on forever, but it was still nice. It was a relief from the pain, this empty place, so devoid of light and feeling.

But, then again, it was boring. It was shape-less and monotone and utterly without feature.

Though my feet touched nothing, I stood upright in the center of the blackness. Or was I upside down? I couldn't tell. I had a body, strangely enough, and it was dressed in my hiking outfit. I could see it, and could touch my own arm with my fingers, but felt no residual pain from the lightning strike.

Wait… lightning strike? What did that mean? I couldn't remember.

What had I been thinking about?

Oh, right, boredom. I was bored. That was it. I turned in a slow circle, peering into the darkness, but found nothing of interest. Then I took a few steps forward, found nothing, and walked in another direction.

For a time, I roamed. My footsteps filled the void. Then I was bored again.

I sat down on the ground-that-was-not-ground and put my head between my knees.

_What do people do when they're bored?_ I wondered. _Nikky (but wait, what is a 'Nikky?' I can't remember…) always played video games._

I pictured a TV in my head: a wide screened monitor, crystal clear picture, sharp sound. When I looked up after a moment of intense concentration, a TV was resting idly before me.

I smiled, though for some distant reason the fact that a TV was there felt odd. I banished the feeling with little difficulty. Everything made senses in this void, no matter how strange. Then I pictured a sleek black PS2 slim, all hooked up to the TV.

And it was.

Feeling triumphant, I strode forward and realized that I had no controller. After a moment, a chord less model appeared atop the television.

_A chair,_ I thought, and there was a chair. _A table, _and there was a table. _A drink,_ and there was an iced can of soda on the tabletop.

I picked up the controller and sat in the chair, rested my elbows on the table and took a swig of soda. It was root beer, my favorite. I smiled blandly, then turned on the PS2.

The screen filled with color; the speakers with sound. The intro to Devil May Cry 3 began to play.

I frowned. _Why _this_ game? I don't like _this_ game. I like Final Fantasy better, and Psychonauts, and a whole host of others. _This_ one is Nikky's._

_Wait…'Nikky?' What is 'Nikky?'_ I couldn't remember, which felt odd, but not for long. Despite my qualms, I let the odd game selection and unknown word slide. This place was Zen. I could work with it.

An image of two men with identical features and different swords filled the screen, and the sounds of their fighting filled my ears. A woman narrated above the din of battle, and I pressed the start button on the controller to skip the cut scene.

I didn't want to watch. I wanted to play.

The mission select screen appeared, but nothing was unlocked besides the first mission on Normal Mode.

I frowned and willed Easy Mode into being, but nothing happened.

"Oh well," I said. My voice sounded muffled within the darkness. I shivered and selected Mission 1.

I picked Swordmaster Style. No alternate weapons were available for use, so I had to stick with Ebony & Ivory for firearms, and Rebellion for my lone Devilarm.

Then I started the mission.

A phone rang. A man exited the shower, kicked over a chair, and answered the phone. He tossed it into the cradle after a moment, said a few words to himself, and ate pizza.

The cut scene went on per usual. I knew it by heart. I had played this Mission, the easiest of them all, many a time in order to rack up practice for the dreaded Mission 18.

Then the cut scene was over, and I had control of Dante.

I propelled the shirtless man across the room and struck the first of the many Pride demons who would attack me this Mission. As I played, the screen began to grow. It slid up and it slid out to fill the space in front of me. Dante became life size; a grown man dancing with a demon. Then the picture changed. As I mashed buttons and slew demons, the image onscreen became sharper and clearer, more life like. The graphics fleshed out and grew more real.

I smiled. This was good. All of this was good. As I slew what I knew would be the last demon to attack—a Lust—my smile turned into a grin. This was such fun.

"I probably earned myself and 'A' ranking," I said happily. My voice was thin in the gloom of the Dark Place. Hoping to see my score rather quickly, I let Dante stand in the middle of the room onscreen as I waited for the Mission Ranking display to appear. The battle music faded from the background, but Dante didn't disappear. Instead, he stood silently, back to the screen.

"A secret cut scene?" I wondered aloud. Eagerly I leaned forward, eyes wide and ears open.

Another moment passed.

Dante's head pivoted around, and one blue, blue eye seemed to stare straight into the Dark Place.

Or, more specifically, straight at _me._

I froze—utterly shocked—but then Dante spoke and the feeling was replaced with wonder.

"Who the hell are _you_?"

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A/N: ****Trippy place, that Dark Room. Review.****Devil May Cry © Capcom**


	5. Chapter 5

**Lightning Crashes**

_By Star Crossed Vigilante

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_

I tried to speak, but my mouth was dry. Dante spun full around, glaring.

"Who are you?" he repeated, voices thunderous.

"I—" I choked. Dante's glare intensified.

"Say something!"

"Wha—?"

"I know you're there!"

"Can't you hear me?" I asked, rising from my seat. My voice rang plaintively in the Darkness: "Hello?"

"You can't hide from me! Come OUT!"

Dante was obviously growing agitated; he had started pacing like a caged animal, all sinewy muscle and tamed fury. I looked around, frantic and scared and confused, and noticed a headset used for xBox Live games sitting on top of the TV.

Unsure if it would work or not, what with it being a gadget meant for another console, I jammed on the receiver and held the mic over my mouth. Breathlessly, I said: "Hello?"

Onscreen, Dante stopped yelling. He ceased his pacing and stood stock still, eyes wary.

"Can you hear me?" I asked. Dante's eyes were still fixed disconcertingly on me, and I shivered. "Hello?"

"Who are you?"

I jumped. I had not been expecting him to speak so frankly. "Um…" I mumbled, unsure of what to say. His voice was everywhere… and nowhere. It was intimidating, issuing straight out of the Darkness and into my ears.

"What's your name?"

I frowned at that. Name? Before I could really think about it, however, I blurted: "Max." I started at the sound, then repeated the word. "Max. I'm Max." It seemed right, and I beamed at Dante, though he could not see me.

"Are you a ghost?"

"I…" I began. What _was_ I, anyway? "I don't _think_ so."

He looked satisfied. "A demon, then."

"N-no!" I stuttered. "I'm a… a…" I couldn't remember.

"Human?" Dante snorted.

"That's it!" I said with triumph. Dante shook his head.

"No way. Humans can't use telepathy this well, or for this long."

I stared, taken aback. "Telepathy?"

Dante tapped his ear with a finger. "I can't hear you with my ears, just my head. Sure-fire sign of telepathy."

"Oh."

"So, spirit girl… who are you, and why the hell were you possessing me?"

"…possessing?"

"Controlling me. Those movements, when I was fighting those demons… well, they sure as hell weren't _mine_."

I scowled at his scornful tone. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He snorted and smirked. "My movements were _never_ that clumsy."

Grudgingly I said: "And here I thought I was playing rather well."

Dante's eyes narrowed. "'Playing?'"

"Uh-huh," I said blandly. "You're a video game."

I blinked at my own words, dumbfounded. Then I leaned forward and switched off the console.

The screen immediately went dark. The light on the Playstation had turned red.

Setting the controller down onto the table gently, I leaned back in my chair.

I mean, the absurdity of it! The thought that a video game could talk and interact with me like a living thing! What was I, crazy? Dante could not be—

Wait… Dante?

Who was Dante? I couldn't seem to recall…

I frowned, staring at the TV screen stretched before me. What was I doing here, in this Darkness, thinking about… what had I been thinking about?

After a moment of concentration, I shrugged. Did it matter? No, of course it didn't. I sat a moment, mind blank. Then I noticed I was bored, and there was a Playstation sitting on the table in front of me.

_A video game,_ I thought happily. _That won't be boring._ I turned on the machine and watched the screen come to life.

A shirtless man was glaring straight at me, and in a moment of utter clarity I remembered everything. My jaw dropped.

"My God…"

Dante—for now I remembered him—smiled acidly. "Oh, so you _can_ talk! I was beginning to think you were a hallucination or something, but then I realized that no hallucination of _mine _would be so damn—"

"Dante!" I hissed, pillowing my head in my hands. "Shut up!"

"Shouldn't that be my line? I men, you ARE in MY head, after all, so—"

"SHUT UP!" I roared. "I'm trying to think and your chattering won't damn well help, you stupid son of a—" My swearing dragged on for a minute or two as memories of life before this dark place came rushing back to me: the lightning strike; the hospital; the doctors; Nikky; the coma; everything. The flow of forgotten information came on so strongly and so quickly that I cried out and fell out of my chair to the ground-that-was-not-ground.

"What's wrong?" Dante said. Was there concern in his voice? He must have heard me fall. Or was he alarmed by the fervency of my words? I couldn't tell. "Spirit Girl?"

"I had forgotten," I moaned. I stared at the 'ground' and gulped. The sensation of swallowing felt all too real, despite the fact that I knew I was in a coma. My head very well knew that this could not be reality and that I was hallucinating, but the rest of me didn't seem to get the message. Dante was still there. "Oh, God, I was just sitting here like everything was fine while my body is fighting for its life, and I—"

"Whoa, whoa," Dante's voice interjected. "Your body? What's going on?"

"I just remembered everything," I snapped, glaring back up at the huge screen. Dante was looking pissed. "I had forgotten. I don't know why, but talking to you has seemed to clear my head somewhat, like you're the only thing keeping me lucid."

"What?"

"Oh for the love of—" I took a deep breath and tried my best to steady myself. Slowly, I said: "My name is Maxine Aire. I was struck by lightning some hours ago, I don't know how many, and the doctor's put me into a coma so that my body could heal itself. I woke up here, in this Black Place, and somehow managed to conjure up a TV and a video gaming console." I glanced up at the table and saw the can of root beer. "And a soda, it seems. But that's not the point." I clenched my fists. "I'd forgotten my brother and my family and why the hell I was here, but then you showed up and I remembered."

He said nothing, merely quirked an eyebrow in disbelief.

"Listen, Dante!" I snarled, composure shattering like glass. "I think this is a hallucination or a dream or something. You can't be real."

"Like hell," he said bluntly. "Frankly, I don't think YOU'RE real."

My anger evaporated. I blinked. "What?"

"You're a voice in my head, Spirit Girl," he said casually. Onscreen, he swaggered over to his desk and plopped into a chair. "What would YOU think if you started hearing voices?"

I pondered that as moment and admitted: "I'd think I'd gone crazy."

"Bingo!" he said. I grimaced.

"I guess we're at a stalemate, then. I think you're not real, and you think I'm a ghost or a product of a rather strange bout of schizophrenia. Great."

Dante heaved a sigh. "Well, I guess we could always test to see if you really aren't a product of my imagination."

My eyes narrowed. "I assume you have an idea as to how that should be done, then?"

He shrugged. "How 'bout I hold up a certain number of fingers behind my back and you swivel the camera around to see 'em—if I'm really a video game that should be an easy thing to do."

I shook my head despite him not being able to see. "That's no good on three counts. For one, DMC is—predominately, anyway—a fixed camera game. The second thing is that if I were indeed a product of your consciousness, wouldn't I know exactly what you were thinking, including the exact number of the fingers in question?"

"Ouch. And the third problem would be…?"

"You, whom I have deemed as ever so slightly immature, would probably pull some stunt such as 'my thumb doesn't count as a finger so your number is technically off by one' or something. My brother does it all the time when we play that game."

Dante grinned. "That settles it. You're real all right."

I just blinked. From the tone of my silence, Dante guessed I didn't get it.

"Oh, come on, Spirit Girl! I thought you were intelligent; you're little monologue was proof enough of that!"

I stared at him and heaved myself back into my chair. "I don't understand."

He sighed again. "Look, I thought of the whole 'since I'm you and you're me you'd know the number' angle, but the 'thumb/finger' issue hadn't even crossed my mind. And, if we were the same person, you wouldn't be able to think up any thoughts that I hadn't thought of, now would you?"

I rolled my eyes and replied: "Though your reasoning is severely flawed, given that schizophrenic's personalities are able to invent dissimilar things without the assistance of their other halves, you seem convinced of my integrity, so I'm not going to complain."

Dante laughed triumphantly. "And that's another thing that proves my point! You've got a better vocabulary than me!"

"…True."

"So what's this game thing you were talking about?" Dante asked, yawning. I kneaded with my forehead with my knuckles, remembering.

"There's this game in my… _world,_ I guess, called Devil May Cry."

Dante nodded. "Cool title. I like it."

"It's a series, actually. The fourth game comes out soon, and right now I'm—_we're _playing the third."

"Killer."

"The first game was amazing, frankly, but the second game sucked."

"Okay… maybe _not_ so killer."

"The third one, however, brought back the series' glory."

"And that's the one I'm living now?"

"Yes."

"Sweet."

I looked up at him. "The next level begins when you step outside, I think."

He nodded. "What happens?"

"Um…" I thought, hard, but came up with nothing. "I can't remember."

"You're useless," Dante said, then lurched to his feet and stretched. Picking up his violent red coat, he sauntered towards the door. "Eh, whatever."

"Time to go to work, then?" I asked. "I mean, since sitting here gets nothing done and all."

Dante winked. "No time but the present. And hey, having a babe along for the ride should be fun."

I blanched. "You can't even see me, Dante."

He shrugged, stopping just before his office door. "It's the thought that counts." He then laughed. "Get it, 'thought?' I thought you were one, and—" When I didn't laugh he sighed and huffily said: "Oh, just forget it!"

Then he kicked down the door, and Mission Two was underway.

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A/N****: Sorry it was so short and sloppy. Review, please.**

**Devil May Cry © Capcom**


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